But the real weight was the . Because Nebula was private, they didn't have to show Marcus their full balance sheet. He was betting millions based on a "leaked" pitch deck and the sheer gravity of Elias’s reputation.

Pre-IPO wasn't just an investment; it was an endurance sport. It was the art of being "right" long before the rest of the world was allowed to agree with you.

The process was a gauntlet of shadows. First came the . Nebula had the right to step in and buy Sarah’s shares back themselves, blocking Marcus entirely. Then there was the Transfer Fee , a five-figure "handshake" to the company just to update their ledger.

"You want in on Nebula ," Elias said, not as a question, but a statement of fact.

Marcus nodded. Nebula was the "unicorn" of the decade—a quantum computing startup that was allegedly months away from a public filing. The world knew the name, but only a handful of people owned the equity.

The opening price was double what Marcus had paid Sarah in that private transaction. By noon, he was looking at a 150% gain. But even then, he couldn't touch it. He was bound by a —six months of standing on the sidelines while the public traded the stock, praying the price held until he was legally allowed to sell.

"I’m in," Marcus said, pushing the signed Expression of Interest across the table.